


Possession

by the_random_writer



Category: Bourne (Movies), The Bourne Supremacy (2004)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Dinner, F/M, Moscow, Oral Sex, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:57:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4841561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_random_writer/pseuds/the_random_writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirill takes his new companion out for dinner with a sinful dessert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possession

Kirill paused at the top of the stairs, giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the gloomy light. Then he took a few more seconds to very carefully survey the room. Before he took another step, he wanted to know exactly who he would be spending the rest of his evening with.

This wasn't the most expensive of Moscow's many private clubs, nor the most exclusive, but it was probably the most notorious, with very good reason. There were no future world leaders in here; no supermodels, no movie stars, no football players, no scheming bankers, no captains of industry. The denizens of this infamous establishment generally moved in much darker, seedier and more violent circles. Arms dealers. Gun runners. Brothel lords. Drug barons. Master counterfeiters. A smattering of _Vory z Zakone_. And from time to time, when the mood took him, the city's finest and most expensive assassin.

The club enforced an extremely strict dress code as a way to keep the ambitious hoi polloi at bay. Kirill had more than risen to the sartorial challenge, donning his charcoal grey, made-to-measure Ermenegildo Zegna suit, paired with a light grey Pierre Cardin matching shirt and tie. His feet were clad in a perfectly polished, beautifully laced pair of Salvatore Ferragamo shoes. His father's KGB cufflinks peeked out from under his jacket sleeves, and his Hublot watch—a gift from a grateful client—sat around his left wrist.

Stiletto heels clicked towards him from behind, and he smiled as he turned to his companion for the evening's adventures. This wasn't the lovely lady's first visit to The Forty Forties, but it was her first time out on the town with someone who actually lived in the city. He fully intended to keep the promise he'd made that morning over breakfast to show her the capital's most interesting sights.

He stood for a moment and drank in the view, slowly raking his eyes up and down this vision of feminine perfection. Lustrous, blonde locks that fell in soft waves and curls to her shoulders; luminous green eyes a man could drown in; long, slender, toned legs a swimwear model would die for; a beautiful, firm, round ass and the pertest, most perfect pair of breasts the world had ever seen.

She also had gone and above beyond her dress-code duty, making a last-minute trip to the Gucci store on Petrovka Street to purchase an expensive piece of black cloth that could only just be described as a dress and that barely covered her remarkable assets. A skirt so short it was almost a sash, and a billowing halter neckline that plunged almost to her navel. Every time she moved, the layers of the gossamer fabric shifted slightly under the light, revealing a hint of those exquisite breasts. Around her neck she wore a simple but elegant pendant; a scattering of tiny diamonds embedded in fine white gold. A gift from him, to express his gratitude and appreciation, and to mark their passionate reunion after so many tedious months apart. On her feet, she wore a pair of classic, black Louboutin heels, but only four inches instead of the five she preferred, to avoid making her as tall as him. She knew he needed to be in control, even in a matter as trifling as height.

He showed her another approving smile, reached out to grasp one of her soft, elegant, manicured hands, brought it slowly up to his lips and brushed a gentle kiss across her fingers. If only the other people in the room knew what lethal artistry those fingers were capable of, what damage they could do to a human body when wrapped around a knife or a gun. To say nothing of how skilfully she applied them in more intimate situations. Mother of God. It was making him hard just thinking about it. He released his hold and dropped his hand to the small of her back to escort her safely down the stairs.

As they strolled across the open centre of the dining room towards their table at the back, he felt some of the other patrons follow them carefully with their eyes. Perhaps one or two of the women, enjoying the sight of his lean physique, but mostly the men, admiring and lusting after the beautiful creature who adorned his arm.

He knew more or less every person in this room, either personally or by reputation, and had come here for dinner tonight for a very specific reason. To show them his stunning new companion, to let them see what kind of woman got on her back or her knees for him, to give them an important message; loud, proud and very clear.

 _Mine_.

He pulled out the chair on the outer side of the table to allow the lovely agent to sit, then dropped into the cushioned booth that ran along the rear wall. A man with any degree of manners would have given her the more comfortable seat, but he had no intention of turning his back on this particular room full of diners. Given what she did for a living, she of all people would understand.

In the booth to his right sat Valentin Stepanov, a colleague of sorts from his Spetsnaz days and now a fellow provider of certain rare and useful skills. A talented man by all accounts, but certainly no match for him, and everyone in Moscow knew it. He saw that Stepanov had an attractive companion of his own—a redhead in a turquoise dress who looked barely old enough to be out of school. She was pretty in a gamine way, but nothing compared to his own love. Poor Valentin. Always relegated to second place.

On his left was Yuri Korovin, an up-and-coming member of the _Solntsevskaya Bratva_. Kirill didn't know the attractive woman sitting on the other side of the table, which made him wonder if Yuri had finally disposed of Irina, his beautiful but careless wife. He had once attempted to seduce the charming and witty Irina, earning himself a thorough beating for his troubles.

He gave the drinks menu a cursory glance, then signalled to the waiter to come for their order. A bottle of Tovaritch, cranberry juice, some fresh limes and a bucket of ice. He drank his vodka the Russian way—straight up and cold as night—but she had more feminine tastes, and insisted on polluting its purity with some fruity additions.

When the waiter returned with their drinks, he ordered a few of the sharing plates from the club's somewhat eclectic menu. Brussel sprout and avocado salad, Medjool dates wrapped in Serrano ham, deep fried duck hearts with mango chutney, blini with sour cream and a serving of the finest caviar money could buy. He didn't much care for the famous delicacy himself, but he knew his companion did, and tonight was not about him.

They chatted quietly as they ate and drank, mostly in English but sometimes in German or Russian, about nothing of any particular consequence; books, movies, the weather, airline food, plans for Christmas, favourite holiday destinations. They simply enjoyed the feeling of being in each other's presence again after so many months apart, and very deliberately stayed away from the topic of work.

When the waiter came to clear their plates, she grabbed her purse and rose from her chair. "Be right back. Need to go powder my nose," she said, and strutted off towards the corridor which bore the sign for the Ladies' bathroom.

He watched her until she was out of sight, then took another pull of his drink and thought about what to have for dessert. Either something extremely simple or something utterly wicked. Crème brûlée or sticky chocolate pudding? Then he realized he wanted an entirely different kind of pudding, pushed up out of his seat and strode across the room in pursuit.

He caught up to her just as she was about to open the bathroom door. He beckoned for her to follow him, then led her further along the corridor and down into a shallow stairwell that ended in an emergency exit. He pinned her firmly against the wall and leaned in to claim a long, deep, demanding kiss. As he pushed into her mouth with his tongue, he heard and felt her emit a quiet, subtle, lustful groan.

He pulled back, looked her straight in the eye and watched as she coyly bit her lip, challenging him to do his worst. With a sudden, almost violent movement, he grabbed the hem of her flimsy skirt and yanked it up around her waist.

He leaned in again to bestow more kisses, trailing them along her jaw, down her slender neck, over her collarbone, all the way down her chest, around her belly button, then on to the soft mound between her thighs. She was wearing a tiny pair of black lace panties, as she usually did when they were together. She knew the delicate material drove him absolutely wild.

He laid a kiss on the exquisite, expensive lace, hooked his fingers through the elastic band and slowly peeled the tiny panties down her tanned, slender legs. He grasped each stiletto-clad foot by the ankle, one at a time, and carefully stepped her out of the fragile piece of fabric. He picked the panties off the floor and stuffed them into his jacket pocket. He might allow her to put them on again at some later point in the evening. And then again, he might not.

When he stood up, she gave him her best conspiratorial grin and grabbed at the buckle of his belt, her eyes full of the burning need to have him inside her again. He was ready to take her right here and now, hard and fast and tight and wet, up against the bare wall.

Then he had a much better idea.

He gently cupped her face in his hands, ran a thumb across her lower lip, leaned in to give her one quick, final kiss and slowly sank to his knees. He trailed more kisses across her stomach and the tops of her legs, paused for a moment, then gently prised her apart with his thumbs and plunged into her with his tongue.

She tightened her thighs and let out a long, slow, gasping sigh. He tongued her slowly, then sucked gently on her clit, listening carefully to her response. When he licked her long and slow, she grasped at the back of his head and pushed him firmly towards her, quietly begging him not to stop. He continued to lick her for several minutes, just the way she wanted it, then switched his approach and pushed his tongue deep inside. Her breaths started to come in short, sharp gasps, then when he pulled out of her to swirl his tongue around her clit again, her quiet gasps turned into loud moans.

He sensed people in the vicinity, probably some other patrons strolling along the corridor at the top of the stairs. Some of them lingered for a few seconds, not to watch exactly, but to briefly witness their illicit encounter in the dark. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a man dressed all in black, probably one of the waiters, pause as if to shout at them to move along, then think better of it and turn away.

She moaned again, louder this time, and brought her hand up to her mouth, trying to restrain herself from making too much noise in such a non-private place. He reached up to find her arm and firmly yanked it away, making it abundantly clear that he wanted to hear her scream. Another moan, even louder, then she began to quietly murmur his name, again and again and again and again.

Then she breathed out a final moan, clenched her ass and her thighs, grabbed violently at his right ear and slapped her other arm out against the wall, almost dropping her purse in the process. As her climax shuddered through her body, she shouted his name in the filthiest, lewdest, most sinful way he'd ever heard in his life. He tongued her through the orgasm, easing up at the very last moment, allowing her to ride out the wave of pleasure without feeling overwhelmed.

He knelt there for a few moments, listening to the glorious sound of her slowly coming down from her high, then laid a parting kiss on her stomach, tugged her skirt carefully back into place, and pushed himself onto his feet. She slowly licked her lips, then let out a lazy, sated, blissful sigh. He flashed her a wolfish grin in return and congratulated himself on yet another job well done.

When she'd recovered well enough to walk, he took her gently by the arm and led her back to the door of the Ladies'. She leaned forward to brush a light kiss across his cheek, then pushed at the door and slipped inside.

As he moved across the dining room to return to their table, eyes fell upon him again, and whispers were quietly shared. So, their encounter at the back of the club had not gone completely unnoticed. No matter. He honestly didn't give a damn who in the room knew what he had just done or what his fellow diners thought. He felt no shame in pleasuring a woman so well, even in such a public place. Only pride, and a burning desire to take her home this very minute, strip her out of her delicate dress, bend her gently over the back of the couch and fuck her slowly into next week.

He dropped back into his padded seat and pulled the bottle of Tovaritch out of the bucket of ice, intending to replenish their drinks. Then he looked up and saw her moving across the floor, her blonde hair glinting in the light, her bright red lipstick freshened up and her round hips swaying indecently from side to side. He was quite sure every man in the room, and perhaps even a few of the women, would surrender their immortal soul to have her naked and willing in their bed.

She lowered herself carefully into her chair and gave him a languorous smile; the look of a happy, appreciated, well-pleasured woman. He stood up, leaned across the narrow table, gently took her chin in his hand and gave her a long, slow, passionate kiss. Anything more would have to wait until they returned to his apartment.

He picked up his drink, took another swig of his vodka and slowly looked around the room, daring the other guests to meet his gaze. He had already given them his first message, now he had a second one for them. Now he wanted them to look at the amazing woman sitting across the table from him and hear him say one word; loud, proud and very clear.

 _Hers_.


End file.
